


'I'm already something, to someone I dont know'

by Forbiddenmichael



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Love Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Unrequited Love, band- au, because it is ridiculously fluffy, because luke is, but it actually isnt, its cute and yeah just read it, like that is the first tag, mikey and cal are hardy mentioned, there are, there is only a tiny bit of angst, this is so fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:12:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5687071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forbiddenmichael/pseuds/Forbiddenmichael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post card number twenty: “<em>Dear Ashton, during the final bow today, when we lined up, you stood next to me. Normally I stand on the end next to Michael, but today I stood next to you. You wrapped one arm around me, and I swear you squeezed me extra tight. I didn’t even care that your top was all damp with sweat. Am I going crazy? You’re my best friend Ash, but every time I say it, I think I’m trying to convince myself that’s all you’ll ever be. <br/>Yours always, Luke</em>”. </p><p>luke has been in love with his best friend for so long, and now the time to tell ashton his feelings has long since past</p>
            </blockquote>





	'I'm already something, to someone I dont know'

**Author's Note:**

> so this started off as another m/m conversion, but I loved the story line and it didn't fit so I basically re-wrote the whole thing. 
> 
> I hope you like it and the lashton fluff gets you through the boring month that is January. (I call January boring even though my birthday is in January...) 
> 
> anyway, leave kudos and comments as it makes me happy :)) think of it as a birthday present to me !!   
>  ((side note, I see these 4 idiots in 87 days, I am not crying nope omg)) 
> 
> title from, im already gone, by a day to remember, as that song never fails to make me cry

They were back. But to be more specific, he was back. The boy with the fluffy, soft-unless it was stuck up with gloopy, sticky hair gel- quiffed blonde hair, eyes the colour of the blue pigment in a sapphire which twinkled just as brightly, pale taught skin across an broadly and bulkily built frame that towered over the majority, if not all, people. Dressed in black from head to toe, his lip ring of the same depthless shade, ghostly pale arms hung loosely at his sides still lanky, but significantly more muscular since the last time Ashton had seen him. The newly 19 year old boy engulfed him in a bone crushing hug, nuzzling his head down a significant amount to ruffle into the others boy’s curly, honey-coloured hair. 

“God, I’ve missed you” Luke mumbled into his hair, his voice barely audible thanks to the general hustle and bustle of the arrivals lounge of the airport. The usually strong accent to his voice had only intensified since he had been back to Australia, something that reminded Ashton of home himself and even made him long to visit his own family sometime soon. 

Ashton only nodded into his wide chest, feeling his soft shirt ride up when his head rose and fell against it. The smell of his best friend reminding him of nights spent _platonically_ in each other’s arms, even though it had been months since they had both been there together. 

“C’mon.” he said, tugging on the hem of Luke’s shirt and moving themselves away from where he had swooped the older boy up directly in front of the door leaving the exits to the arrivals. After the usual “Are you guys together?”, “What a cute couple” and just the general comments about how he and Luke were made for each other, thanks to the very public and slightly handsy hello, they left the airport. 

Luke had grabbed his bag and carry on before meeting his best friend, so was now using one hand to drag his impressively large case that rattled noisily and the other threaded and entwined with Ashton’s.   
It had always been like this. _Luke and Ashton. Ashton and Luke._ The two of them against everything: The bullies who tried to make fun of the way Luke used to nervously chew on his lip, a habit he hadn’t dropped but just switched to chewing on the metal through his skin instead many years later, his parents, occasionally Ashton’s, well, parent, and just anyone who tried to get between the two of them.

Spending the whole of their lives encased and wrapped in each other and the constant company, when they had begun high school that hadn’t changed. They didn’t necessarily always eat lunch together, Luke mostly eating with the two equally dorky boys wearing matching jumpers, and Aston-being in the year above- eating with a duo of mainly Alex and Jack. The jumpers they all wore were simple and grey with a logo and words underneath it: 5 Seconds of Summer. Soon, through many late night talks of coaxing Luke through his nervousness, Ashton knew how much that simple garage band meant to him, and he found himself sitting behind the drum kit with the three boys performing in front of him. 

To Luke, the innocent, doe eyed, nervous boy, this band was more than just that. He threw everything he had into the band. And now, years later, it had paid off. All four of the boys had grown up together, matured and expanded how they viewed the word. Of course they were still immature, ridiculously so, but now with more sense of what was expected of them-which from Ashton’s point of view was too much. Him, Calum and Michael were able to step back from the spotlight, almost hide behind the lyrics and their instruments. But Luke, Luke couldn’t hide, couldn’t take a step back. It was all on his shoulders, being the front man subjected him to too much pressure, too many commitments and just too much was expected of the youngest of the four. 

Ashton could tell that from the downwards slant of Luke’s shoulders, when they had finished their latest tour. He could tell from the deep purple bruises underneath his slightly blood shot eyes from too many sleepless nights, he had seen as Luke boarded the plane 3 months ago to visit his family. Not that Luke didn’t love it- the fame and the glory and the ability to share something so personal with so many, or that Ashton didn’t love Luke for it- loved him a bit more than he should.

But the break seemed to have done Luke the world of good. He looked happier-not that he wasn’t happy before-but just with the way that there was the lilt of happiness in the glint of his eye even when he did the most mundane of tasks, when before it was only there when actually performing. He held himself better, more alert and awake and ready to take the day with both hands, rather than waiting with sluggish anticipation for the day to carry him with it. 

They both bundled into a taxi, Ashton first, then Luke following and Luke slumped up against his side, his suitcase and carry on thrown carelessly in the back of the car. Ashton felt his warm breath on his neck and tried not to shiver as Luke clung to the older boy with his arms tightly wrapped around him, head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, as if he was a koala and just seeking warmth. The car bumped and jumped down the road, Ashton’s head vibrating against the window which it was pressed against. His eyes vibrated in their sockets, blurring his vision. 

The heat of Luke’s skin against his own was enough to remain in the uncomfortable position. Luke’s limbs lay splayed out on the seat to his side, and across Ashton’s body. It had long since gone heavy as sleep had claimed him, and Ashton was not feeling too happy about the way Luke’s large shoulder digged into his stomach or how heavy he felt in his lap, but he was happy to grant the younger boy the sleep he had been lacking due to the long flight.

Ashton ran a hand through Luke’s blonde static hair, made fly-away by running his own hand through it one to many times before, on the flight. Luke had been to see his parents and the rest of the Hemmings’ the months prior, taking advantage of the free time in his schedule to meet them before taking the flight back to spend time with him. They had four months off timetable, where they could do whatever they wanted, so Luke had spent the first three months back in Australia and had decided the final month was to be spent with his best friend. They would inevitably see Calum and Michael, for they had become inseparable over the years, but to have time where they could pretend they weren’t nearly adults with their own responsibilities and just like they were many years ago, was good for both Luke and Ashton.

“Lu?“ Ashton whispered to Luke through the quiet and pitch black of the car. “C’mon Lu, we’re here now” He whispered again, running a lingering hand through his flat hair before giving his shoulder a slight shove. “You need to get of me” he said, laughing softly, and pushing his shoulder more firmly this time, waking him slightly. 

The blonde groaned and mumbled something incoherent before twisting in Ashton’s lap so his nose and face was pushed tightly against the elder’s stomach. Seizing the opportunity, Ashton spotted a thin line of white stomach from underneath the hem of Luke’s shirt, and reaching down, he poked him there to wake him up. Luke let out a squeak and sat up too quickly; banging his head on the roof of the car, earning a disgruntled look from the driver, but then pouting at his friend for disturbing his sleep.

Luke’s eyes were still half closed-blocking the clear blue from sight- and there was a slight mark at the corner of his mouth from where he had been dribbling, a mark Ashton was sure would be mirrored on the material of his jeans where the younger boy’s head was. The older smiled at him, reaching forward to wipe the mark of his face, “Bags, then sleep” he soothed. Luke simply nodded.

Needless to say, Luke was no help whatsoever in helping Ashton pay the driver, getting his own large bags from the back of the car, somehow dragging them up the steps to the apartment, managing to open the door and then finally throwing them on the floor. All of which Ashton had to do simultaneously; in the dark of the night which had fallen and to top it all off with a whingeing six foot tall child clinging to him like a lost puppy. 

Using his foot to close the door behind them- it closed roughly-Ashton just pointed to his bedroom and Luke was gone. Without so much as a word or a gesture he had stumbled into the older boy’s room still in his travelling clothes and flopped on the bed. And from the snores that echoed through the house about ten minutes later, he had fallen quickly asleep. Normally he would join Luke, snuggling up within his huge frame, but today he thought against it. After spending so many nights in the cramped quarters of the tour bus, he though Luke would prefer the space more than the two of them curled up in the single bed. 

With a lot of self-loathing and annoyance at himself, he thought about how in moments like this, it would just be good to be selfish. Be selfish and just go and bask in the warmth of Luke’s body against his own, but instead he was too giving and let Luke have his sleep. So after creeping into his room to grab some pyjamas, he slumped on the sofa. Pulling the blanket over himself and thinking how good right now would it be to just be that little bit selfish. 

-

About halfway through the night Ashton heard shuffling, feeling tired himself- but because of many nights of being pulled apart by nerves and excitement for Luke’s arrival- he ignored it, thinking it was Luke trying to find the bathroom. But he then felt the feeling of strong hands under him, and the sensation of falling. Eyes still closed and brain still clouded over with the fog of sleep he didn’t try to understand what was happening. Only snuggled closer to the warmth that was next him, and thought of how the sofa had gotten extremely comfortable since the falling sensation. The duvet and pillow were also quiet nice as well. And so was the strong arm wrapping around his waist and which tugged him closer to the owner and their body heat. The sound and feeling of a kiss being placed to his shoulder echoed through the room and tingled across his skin before he was asleep. 

* * * 

Ashton woke up with the streaming sunlight across his face. Disorientated, he blinked a few times, feeling warm and well rested-a feeling he would not have gotten from sleeping on the sofa. He was in his bed. With the blanket from the sofa still clutched in his hands, he remembered falling asleep there, but also remembered the strong hands and the feeling of falling. He smiled to himself, Luke had brought him here. But the thoughts of Luke’s arm dragging him closer and the lingering kiss to his shoulder were unimaginable, too similar to Ashton’s dreams to be real. Once the sleep had fallen from his eyes, he twisted over in the sheets, feeling them wrap around and cocoon him. 

Luke wasn’t next to him. His smell still lingered on his side of the pillow and there was still warmth from where he had slept, but he wasn’t there. Clanking and banging from the kitchen confirmed he had ventured into the house. Ashton sat up and propped his head up against the head board. Luke had obviously begun to unpack in the early hours of the morning when the jet lag had made sleep impossible. Various pairs of black skinny jeans, singlets and general t-shirts had been pulled out of his case and lay in a messy pile next to it; he had been looking for something. After knowing Luke for so long Ashton knew his habits, how if he was living out of a case he kept everything neat and tidy but how if he was looking for something he grew frantic, throwing stuff out of the way to find what he needed. The older boy frowned. He’d ask about it later, he thought.

A timer set of too loudly in the kitchen, which was followed by a curse from Luke. There was a bang and the squeaking of the timer stopped. Was Luke cooking?! He never cooked, unless he was making waffles. God did waffles sound good right now, Ashton thought. Stretching and raising his arms above his head, he sighed, happy that he finally had his best friend on the same continent as him, let alone in the same house. He reached besides the bed, dragging a pair of tracksuit bottoms that had been shoved between his bedside table and bed frame, and exchanged them for the flannel pyjama pants he was currently wearing. Thankful for the extra layer of protection against the chill of the air in the apartment, he flicked his feet off the edge of the bed and set them on the floor. He stood up and then began looking for some socks or hopefully some slippers to cover his ice cold feet. The floor on this side of the bed was mostly clean, void of Luke’s clothes and his suit case. Getting on his hands and knees, Ashton searched under the bed for something to cover his feet. Not seeing anything, he cursed before stopping abruptly. 

Underneath the spare blankets that he kept under the bed, the curly haired boy could see the white shiny corner of something. Something that defiantly wasn’t there the few days before, when he had put the blankets there. Reaching his arm as far as it would go under the bed, resulting in some contortion skills from the rest of his body, he snagged the corner. Ashton gripped it between his forefinger and thumb and pulled. Instead of what looked like one laminated piece of paper coming from under the blanket, a whole bundle did. Wrapped and wrapped in what looked like brown twine or string was a huge stack of at least a thirty postcards. Where the hell had these come from? Ashton thought. 

The lines in his forehead depend as his brow furrowed and his eyebrows knitted together. Ashton gripped one string on the tied ribbon keeping the bundle together and pulled it free. The postcards were all immaculately kept, not a single one dog-eared or battered. He picked up the first one. It was of a couple eating at a little delicatessen outside the Eiffel Tower-one of the most clique postcards he’d seen. Flipping it over Ashton read. In the corner was a simple written “ _No. One_ ” with a date from a few months back. 

“ _Dear Ashton, so I thought I would write to you, seeing as I’m not that good with actually talking to you face to face. Well I am, just not about stuff like this. Whatever **this** is. But I’m guessing what I’m trying to say I’m gonna write down **everything I didn’t say** to you when I had the chance. That was terrible and cheesy, but you see where I’m coming from? That song means so much to me Ash, and you have no idea. You see, I had the chance to say all this before we started the tour, before we started with One Direction. I had the chance to tell you all of these feelings that feel like they are eating me up inside when you turned up to that first band practice with that god awful purple shirt on, whilst riding that really old bike. I could have told you then, or a little after, and it would have been okay. _

“ _It wouldn’t have been a big thing to admit all this. But now, I’m writing this on the first day of our second world tour, and were under a microscope now and it’s not as simple as just coming out and saying it. So I thought, maybe if I wrote it all down it would help me to stop, to stop **this** /. You’ll probably never see these, but one day I hope that I will have the courage to tell you everything that I write for you.   
Yours always, Luke_”. 

The anxiety built up in Ashton’s throat and he could barely breathe. His stomach twisted and pitched and it was as if he was going on stage supporting One Direction for the very first time. It sounded like, _god_ , it sounded like maybe, there was a slither of hope that Ashton feelings were returned by his best friend. There was a chance that that was what Luke’s messily written postcard meant. But it could have been about anything, maybe Luke’s sexuality, or something he had done or said in the past. It could have been guilt that was ripping Luke apart in such an awful way, guilt that was causing him to splash his thoughts all over a page rather than painting them in the air to be heard. 

He flipped to the next postcard, his hands trembling. An overly large cartoon of a man speaking in what looked like German was on the front.

“ _Dear Ashton, today we are doing some shows in Germany. The stadiums were so full, and you should have seen the way your eyes were sparkling under the lights. It’s as if you just sat there behind your drum kit and thought, ‘yeah, we’ve made it’. I could feel it Ash, all the thousands of people screaming our names, but I want to do all of this with you by my side. I don’t want you to think in your head of how we have made it, I want you to be able to whisper it in my ear when we fall asleep, or catch my eye in a show and for me to see it. We’ve made it and I know that, but I wish I could hold your hand to guide the both of us through it.  
Yours always, Luke_”. 

The bubbles started to rise in Ashton’s stomach, fizzy and popping and filling his insides with a excited nervous mix. 

Postcard number 6: “ _Dear Ashton, were staying at a hotel today, but there were no postcards in the lobby, and we couldn’t stop anywhere on the way. I had to get one of the stage hands to go and get this for me. I signed a poster for his sister to keep him quiet and not tell anyone. Don’t you think that’s weird? How our signatures mean that much now that it can keep someone from spilling so much gossip to a newspaper or journalist._

“ _I miss sleeping so close to you on the bus. Did you know that? I love the luxury of a hotel, but I share a room with Mike here, and you room with Calum. In the bus, you’re directly across from me, and sometimes you leave your curtain open. If I squint hard enough, and you’re facing in my direction, I can imagine what it would be like to sleep and wake up next to you.  
Yours always, Luke_”. 

Postcard number nine: “ _Dear Ashton, I don’t think I’ll ever have the guts to show these to you. I’m sorry. I wish I felt like I was able to. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not your fault. You’re so approachable and understanding and kind and nice that I would be able to tell you if I was someone else. Whereas I’m just the bumbling baby of the band, who can’t even admit something like this to their best friend. I could tell you if every time I got close to speaking my thoughts I didn’t feel like I was about to free-fall of a cliff with no parachute.  
Yours always, Luke_ ”.

The fizzing and popping within him changed, from an exciting mass to a churning uncomfortable feeling. 

Postcard number fifteen: “ _Dear Ashton, Mike and Cal took us all out partying last night. We all got so drunk; I bet there will be photos of us everywhere. What are the fans gonna think? The press? I’m sick of all this drama and the tours only just started. But, honestly I was so drunk. I almost told you, Ashton. How bad would that have been? If it had all come out in a drunken slur when both of us were too inebriated to control our actions. If I told you sober, I bet you’d let me down gently- you’re a nice guy like that- but while drunk, you’d probably curse me out. If I told you while sober- I would tell you calmly- but whilst drunk, I’d probably kiss you.  
Yours always, Luke_”. 

Postcard number eighteen: “ _Dear Ashton, I still haven’t sent any of the postcards. You have no idea about any of this. I feel like every time I look at you, it may as well be painted across my forehead. I think maybe Calum has noticed, he comes over to me on stage a lot more. I think its cos he sees me looking at you under the bright lights and can tell. He’s always been good like that. He’s not so good at fully distracting me though.  
Yours always, Luke_”. 

Postcard after postcard fell from the stack, Luke’s messy smudged handwriting adorning them all. 

Post card number twenty: “ _Dear Ashton, during the final bow today, when we lined up, you stood next to me. Normally I stand on the end next to Michael, but today I stood next to you. You wrapped one arm around me, and I swear you squeezed me extra tight. I didn’t even care that your top was all damp with sweat. Am I going crazy? You’re my best friend Ash, but every time I say it, I think I’m trying to convince myself that’s all you’ll ever be.  
Yours always, Luke_”. 

Postcard number twenty three: “ _Dear Ashton, do you think if I want something so much, and wish and wish for it to happen, then it will come true? I really hope so, because I really want this for us. I’m asking for the courage to tell you, for some of the bravery that you have. I need to man up, just come out with it, but I can’t. I feel like my throat it closing up every time I try.  
Yours always, Luke_”. 

Postcard number twenty eight: “ _Dear Ashton, Cal did work it out. And he told Mike. I think they are growing concerned. Wherever you’re around, they say I light up like a Christmas tree, with so much renewed energy. Apparently when you’re here, I look like I was never and could never be upset again. But when you’re gone, they say it’s like I’m mourning someone’s death. And I suppose I am really. I’m mourning the death of something we could have been. We could have been wonderful, Ash.  
Yours always, Luke_”. 

Post card number thirty one: “ _Dear Ashton, the tours nearly over now. And then I’m going away for three months. How am I even going to cope? When you’re not even in the room I deflate, feel like I’m cold all over like I’m lying in the snow. But when you’re there, it’s like I have my own personal sunbeam in the form of you.  
Yours always, Luke_”. 

Post card number thirty four: “ _Dear Ashton. **I love you**. Yours always, Luke_ ”. 

The perfectly kept postcard fell from Ashton’s hands, floating to the ground and landing separate to the stack of other postcards. “I love you”, “Yours always”, “I need you” were the words that repeatedly swam around in his head, repeated over and over again as if someone was whispering them. The image of the words was as equally haunting as Luke’s messy print became engraved in his head, flashing up over and over again. Whilst reading the postcards, he had been sat on the floor, but now he slumped with his head in his hands, looking down at them and the landscapes and drawings on the backs of them all. This is what Luke had been looking for. His frantic search was to hide his hearts words that he had spilt all over the laminated cards. 

Due to the ghostly whispers of the words in his head, Ashton didn’t hear the awkward shuffling behind the door or the click as it was opened. So when a chipper voice spoke, he was as equally shocked as the owner. 

“Rise and shine, sleeping beau-“ standing inside the door frame was Luke, dressed in a pair of dark grey sweat pants and a white shirt, his head bowed to stop himself from hitting his head on the top of the door frame, and his body blocking the view into the other room. He was holding a tray with a plate of expertly made waffles on it, a pot of Nutella next to them and a steaming cup of coffee in his other hand. His sentence got caught in his throat when he saw Ashton-not in bed where he hoped he could wake his best friend up with breakfast from-but on the floor surrounded by the pieces of card. 

The happy expression on Luke’s face fell, turning from one of fear to another, harder expression. He walked into the room, placing the steaming drink and the waffles on the side, and sat down on the floor opposite Ashton. Sighing loudly, Luke steeled his expression, tightened his jaw and then finally looked up at the older boy. His blue eyes were vacant compared to Ashton’s green ones which were filling with tears. Luke flinched at his expression. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ashton croaked out. “Why didn’t you show me?” he repeated, when Luke ignored his first question to just stare down at the floor. 

“I-I didn’t know what y-you would s-say” the blonde whispered, twiddling with the drawstring on his trousers as continued to stare down into his lap. 

“And what did you think I would say?” he asked, calming down and willing the tears pooling in his hazel eyes not to fall. Luke simply shrugged, but his own eyes were growing red with tears. “Lu?” Ashton questioned, using his pet name, something he wished he could call his best friend with more than just a friendly tone. 

“I don’t know Ashton!” he shouted, before taking in the other boy’s startled expression at the outburst and stopping anything else he was going to say. Clenching his jaw and looking down again, if Ashton looked closely enough he could see a small tear run down Luke’s cheek and fall onto the carpet. It soaked up and the material turned a darker colour. The smell of coffee and waffles filled the room. 

“What did you want me to say?” the older boy whispered, so quietly he didn’t expect Luke to hear it, it wasn’t really meant for him anyway. More for himself, as if he was asking himself what he thought Luke would have wanted him to say. But Luke had heard him, and as the words tumbled from his mouth, Ashton’s world came crashing down. 

“I wanted you to say you wanted me too, you needed me too. I wanted you to ask Michael to switch rooms with you, so you could be with me. I wanted you to want to spend time with me when you didn’t have to. Time that you could be spent doing something else, but you chose to spend that time with me. It was me and you, before it was all the four of us. 

“And I’m not discounting everything we have done together, but what about what you and I have done together. I wanted you to tell me that that mattered to you, that _I mattered_ to you. But you didn’t. That’s not your fault, but you didn’t tell me what I craved for you to say.” He stopped, cutting himself off. 

He looked up at Ashton now, his expression full of something the other boy couldn’t put his finger on. His hair was flat, his cheeks a rose pink colour, his blue eyes diluted with tears, and their salty tracks visible on his pale skin. 

Taking a long blink and a sharp intake of breath, he spoke again “I wanted you to tell me you loved me. Or love me.” He withdrew into himself once he had said the words out loud. Almost expecting some sort of huge outburst from Ashton about how he was his best friend and that he was like a brother to him. That, or some sort of psychical reaction, like a slap. All the air rushed out of Ashton’s lungs at once, he felt lightheaded, his vision was spinning, whilst the world seemed to have stopped moving. 

His mouth opened, somehow managing to form words. “I love you Luke” Ashton murmured. And Luke’s head shot up. His eyes cleared and his mouth parted. 

“What?” he asked, his voice trembled and his hands appeared to be shaking where he had rested them on his knees. 

“I love you” Ashton repeated, this time more clearly. Luke was dumfounded, his jaw dropping from slightly parted to fully open. 

Stuttering before speaking again he said, “As in you want to kiss m-“. 

Ashton didn’t let him finish his sentence. Leaning across the scattered postcards towards him, he took a fistful of the younger boy’s shirt and pulled. He pulled Luke down to his height, leaving his lips and face close to his own. When Luke blinked, Ashton could almost feel the fluttering of his eyelashes against his skin. 

“Yes,” he breathed out, his lips inches from the yonger boy’s. “I love you, as in I want to kiss you.”

Luke’s breathing was erratic and the little puffs of air that left his parted mouth tingled against Ashton’s skin. The blonde didn’t say anything, seemingly unable to, before he jutted his face forward and their lips met. The feeling of Luke this close to him was euphoric. His lips were plump and soft, moving sweetly against Ashton’s rougher ones, and Luke angled his head so that Ashton’s top lip was between his. The cool coldness of Luke’s lip ring contrasted with the increasing warmth of their lips against each other’s, making chills run directly down Ashton’s spine and causing him to shiver. 

Luke pulled away briefly, his lips still brushing the other boys as he spoke, the lip ring catching on his bottom lip from their close proximity, “I love you” he mumbled, pecking Ashton’s lips momentarily, “And I’m yours, always” he said before kissing Ashton again. 

Luke was his, and he was Luke’s. How it had always been. Luke and Ashton. Ashton and Luke. But now really it was slightly different. They thoroughly belonged to each other in every way possible, entwined with the fabric of the other, in every way imaginable.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading !!
> 
> hope you liked it :))


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